


A Light at the End of the Tunnel

by lotr58



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:13:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotr58/pseuds/lotr58
Summary: Daryl Dixon, long-spurned by his community, undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience which, in the end, draws him towards true happiness as he finds that there is, indeed, a light at the end of the tunnel





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to TWDObsessive for looking this over for me! You're the best:)

The day was not starting well at all, in Rick’s opinion. He was more than a little perturbed, to be honest. That old adage of waking up on the wrong side of the bed was true, he thought. This morning was living testament to that. And it was Monday to boot. Didn’t Monday mornings always start badly? Not the way he wanted to start his week, that was for sure. 

Buttoning the last button on his uniform shirt and grabbing his hat, he glanced at the counter, making sure he had everything he needed before heading to the station. Satisfied, he placed the hat on his head and walked through the door, making sure it was locked behind him before walking to his car. He hoped the day would be quiet, his shift uneventful. Heaving a deep sigh, he opened the car door and slid in, ready to start his day whether he wanted to or not.

Pulling out of his driveway and heading towards the station, Rick tried—unsuccessfully—to steer his thoughts away from last night’s fiasco. Well, fiasco in his mind. The evening had still gone well, just not as he’d planned. He was curious, though, if not a little bothered, about the events of the previous night. And if he was honest, he was a bit disappointed. He, Shane, and Abraham had met for their weekly pool game at the Tipsy Cow, name notwithstanding, the best sports bar in town. Of course, maybe it was the best because it lay somewhere between a total dive where trouble was waiting and a high-class establishment requiring a tie and jacket. And the pool table couldn’t be beat.

Turning right on Mapleton, Rick replayed the events of the previous evening in his mind. Or rather, the ‘non-events’ as he now thought of them. Yes, he was disappointed. Disappointed in one Daryl Dixon. Letting out a huff of frustration, Rick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to relax his jaw, which he realized was tightening by the minute, forcing his teeth to grind together in a most uncomfortable manner. Damn Dixon anyway. 

But then, a little niggle of doubt forced its way into his thoughts and he realized that he might have been partly to blame. While he and the others had known Daryl since high school, they had run in different circles. Rick had always been part of the popular crowd, as had his friends, while Dixon…had not. In fact, Daryl Dixon didn’t even seem to have a circle. He was a loner, helped along by the fact that his last name was synonymous with the plague—as in stay away. 

A decade and a half ago, as a student, Rick hadn’t questioned that fact. He just went along with the prevailing attitude that seemed to permeate the school and town and, he had realized recently, he never once examined the situation, never once probed deeper instead of just accepting what everyone saw on the surface—a surly young man who was often dirty and bruised, who wore his unsociability as a shield. Looking back, Rick now recognized that the young man’s aloofness may have been directed inward rather than outward. A form of protection and even self-preservation rather than targeting anyone else. Of course, it took a near catastrophe to open his eyes to that possibility.

Six months ago his skills as a deputy with the King County Sheriff’s Department were put to the test when a four-year-old boy disappeared without a trace. Snatched from his mother’s side at a park while her back was turned. And then nothing. No indication of what might have happened or who might be involved. With the clock ticking, it was a race against time to find the child…find him alive. He, Shane, and Abraham led the search teams, but all to no avail. Everything led to a dead end. 

Televised pleas from the parents and the Sheriff turned up nothing. As days turned into a week, the case seemed to come to a standstill, with all the tips coming in leading nowhere. And that might have been that if one Daryl Dixon hadn’t walked into the station, offering his services. Shane and Abraham, remembering ‘Dirty Dixon’ from high school, just scoffed. But, as Rick recalled, he did not. Over his nearly fifteen years on the force, the Dixon name turned up regularly. But it was always Merle Dixon, not Daryl. Unlike his older brother, Daryl had a clean slate. Never in trouble with the law. Kept to himself and minded his own business. In fact, he seemed to have become even more antisocial as the years passed. 

But there he was, offering to use his hunting and tracking skills to search the woods and surrounding areas for any trace of what might have happened. To search for a child he didn’t know and to which he had no obligation. At the time, time had been of the essence and so, even though Shane and Abraham and some others had objected, Rick talked the Sheriff into giving Dixon the authority to lead yet another search. And lo and behold, he’d led them to the boy, being held in a remote hunting cabin by his father, estranged at the time from the mother. Even though the others had begrudgingly acknowledged Dixon’s success, they’d also made excuses for why—in their opinion—he’d done nothing extraordinary.

“We’d have found him eventually.” Shane.

“It was his father. He wouldn’t have hurt him.” Abraham.

But that incident opened Rick’s eyes to one Daryl Dixon. Made him see the man in a different light. What the others seemed to be missing was the fact that this man, who had been shunned all his life and who continued to lead an isolated existence, still spurned by his own community, had come into the station of his own volition and offered to help do what they, the Sheriff and deputies of King County, could not—find a four-year-old boy. Looking back, Rick realized how very difficult that must have been for a man who was basically a recluse. Dixon had nothing to prove to anyone. He could have continued with his solitary existence. But he didn’t. He knew he could do something to help and so he did. That, in Rick’s estimation, took a lot of courage. It also showed that he had a heart; he just didn’t want others to know it. In helping to find the boy, Daryl Dixon opened himself up to the public…a public that despised him. It was a truly selfless act, in Rick’s view. 

And so, from that point forward he was determined to get to know Daryl Dixon. To look beneath the surface of what everyone else saw and come to understand the man underneath. And over time, what he came to see was a man who was completely misunderstood, who wasn’t at all what people perceived him to be. He was, in Rick’s opinion, a victim of the prevailing attitude of their town. A victim of his family’s reputation. But that didn’t define who Daryl Dixon was. 

Shunning the attention that came with the successful end to the case—successful because of him—Daryl returned to his solitary life. Or attempted to return. This time, Rick wasn’t going to let him and made it his mission to draw the man out. To get to know him. It was a very slow process, with Daryl not seeming to trust anyone, let alone one of his former high school classmates who was now a deputy. But Rick was nothing if not persistent and he continued to try to pierce that seemingly impenetrable surface.

A chance meeting in the local sporting goods store was his first opportunity. Recently divorced from his high school sweetheart, Lori, Rick relished every opportunity he was given to spend with his son. Carl wanted to learn to fish, so of course Rick was going to teach him. Granted, he had to teach himself, first. Which is why he found himself in the local sporting goods store, wandering around hopelessly as he realized that watching how to fish and what was needed on YouTube and actually doing it were two very different things. There were so many reels and rods and poles and the stringy stuff—whatever it was—that he didn’t know what to do or what to buy.

And then, a soft voice was asking if he needed help. Grateful for anyone who knew more than he did about fishing—which would really be just about anyone—he’d swung around to find himself face-to-face with Daryl Dixon. Trying—unsuccessfully—to keep the grin from taking over his face, he nodded vigorously, pointing like an idiot to the rack of fishing poles next to him.

“I…uh…wanna take my son fishing.”

The other man had just stared at him, waiting for him to continue, his expression inscrutable. 

“I…um…need the equipment, but I don’t know what to get. There’s so much to choose from.”

Without saying a word, Daryl began grabbing items off the shelves, handing them over to his former classmate.

“There. That oughta do ya’. The small pole is for your son, in case ya’ wasn’t sure.”

Staring at the other man, Rick was sure he detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but Daryl’s face revealed nothing. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he nodded his thanks.

“I appreciate the help. Do you work here?”

The answer, when it came, was soft and low, hesitant almost.

“Nah. Just stopped in ta’ pick up some supplies.”

“Well, thank you.” Surveying the bounty in his arms, he smiled at the other man. “No telling what I would have shown up with if you hadn’t come along.”

A slight nod was the only response. And then Rick was hit with sudden inspiration.

“Say…you wouldn’t be willing to help me out, would you?” Seeing the other man preparing to—he was sure—refuse, he rushed on. “The thing is…I only see my boy every other weekend and he is really, really looking forward to me taking him fishing. Problem is, I know nothing about fishing, as you can probably tell. So…would you be willing to teach me how?”  
Silence.

“Like…we’d go fishing together and you could give me some pointers?”

Daryl just stood and stared at him, as if trying to decipher what was going on and what he was really trying to say. With a pang of regret, Rick realized that he couldn’t blame the other man after the way he’d always been treated in this town. Not wanting to let the moment go, though, he pushed forward.

“There’s beer in it for ya’.” 

He actually had no idea if Daryl drank beer, but he looked like the type. If there was a type. And he hoped the offer of beer made his request just a little more enticing. He really wasn’t expecting an affirmative response. But then, to his complete and utter astonishment, the other man just inclined his head slightly and uttered one word. “Okay.”

And that had been the beginning of Rick trying to befriend Daryl Dixon. It was a painstakingly slow process, but over time the other man seemed to realize that Rick was being genuine. Gone was the high school jock who hung around with the popular crowd. In his place was an open and friendly deputy who seemed to genuinely want to get to know him for who he was. Who was willing to look beneath the surface of what everybody else saw. As a result, Daryl started to, slowly but surely, open up to the other man. Whether it was a quiet afternoon spent fishing by the lake, or watching sports on tv, Rick realized that they were inching their way towards friendship. He had begun to slowly peel away the layers that made up Daryl Dixon and he liked what he saw. Which was why he was so perturbed this morning.

After much discussion, he’d convinced Daryl to join them for pool the night before. It was obvious the other man still remembered his treatment at the hands of his classmates all those years before and was nervous, so it took some fast talking on Rick’s part. But he finally persuaded Daryl that the others had changed with the years and that he would enjoy himself if he joined them. He’d also read the riot act to Shane and Abraham, letting them know in no uncertain terms what would happen to them if they said so much as one rude or unkind word to Daryl. And then, after all of that, the other man had been a no-show. Rick didn’t know what to think. Did his nerves get the best of him? Had he just decided he didn’t want to come? He hadn’t even called to tell them he wasn’t coming; he just never showed. Not a word. Not a call. Nothing. He didn’t know what to think. Shane and Abraham did, though.

“Just like the Dixons. They don’t give a thought to anyone but themselves. No manners.” This was Shane.

“Maybe he got a better offer.” Abraham’s two-cents.

“Let’s play.” That was Rick’s response. “Let’s play pool.” And so they did. He didn’t understand it, but for some strange reason he was actually hurt that Daryl hadn’t even bothered to give him a call, letting him know he wouldn’t be there. Though he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, he was hurt by the other man’s actions. He didn’t know why and didn’t fully comprehend it, but there it was. His feelings were hurt. As he joined the others at the pool table, Rick hardened himself to the feelings warring inside. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he and Daryl weren’t friends after all. Maybe what he’d thought was a burgeoning friendship was nothing more than a duty on Daryl’s part. 

And that was why Rick hated this particular Monday morning. His anger and confusion from the previous night were still churning inside him, a maelstrom of negative feelings. In fact, they were stronger, more potent than the night before. And dominant among them was the idea that Daryl Dixon could go to Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl Dixon, long-spurned by his community, undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience which, in the end, draws him towards true happiness as he finds that there is, indeed, a light at the end of the tunnel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. It means the world to me!

Once at work, Rick tried his best to keep his mind on the day’s activities but try as he might he couldn’t stop thinking about the previous evening and his annoyance with Daryl Dixon just continued to fester. So he was actually grateful to receive the call to stop in at Dale and Jim’s Automotive Shop when it came in late that morning. Looking over at Shane, he allowed the question in his eyes to do the talking for him. It worked.

“Disturbance at the garage,” the other deputy informed him. “Some vagrant’s passed out on the front steps of the shop. Won’t leave. Passed out drunk, it sounds like.”

Nodding at his friend and co-worker, Rick was already on his feet, grabbing his gear as he made his way to the door. It didn’t even register until he was out of the building and behind the wheel of their squad car that Daryl worked at Dale and Jim’s Automotive Shop.  
‘Damn,’ he thought to himself. ‘Just can’t get away from him. Don’t really wanna be thinking about Daryl Dixon right now. Not after last night!’

Rick was so involved with and hyper-focused on his internal conversation that he didn’t even notice Shane trying to get his attention until a hand passed in front of his vision. Snapping out of his reverie, Rick glanced over at his friend, who was looking at him in confusion.

“Earth to Rick. Are you there, buddy?” 

Inhaling deeply, Rick allowed a small smile to creep over his face before nodding in reply. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinkin’ is all.”

“Thinkin’ about what?” his friend inquired, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Nothin’ important. Nothin’ at all.”

Shrugging, Shane turned to look out the window of the car, seemingly accepting Rick’s response, though it was obvious he sensed there was more going on here than his friend was letting on. But he obviously wasn’t going to press the matter further at the moment. They rode in silence for the next several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts until they arrived at their destination, where Rick pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the shop and parked the car.

Snatching his hat from the seat beside him, he placed it on his head before unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door of the car. Looking over at his partner, he asked, “You wanna do the talking, or you want me to?”

With a snort, Shane exited his side of the vehicle, nodding his head in acquiescence. “I’ll do it. Let’s go see what we’re dealin’ with, okay?” He pushed the car door shut as he made his way to the building. 

Nodding in agreement, Rick followed his friend across the parking lot and to the entrance of the garage, glancing around the half-filled lot and surveying his surroundings as he walked. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him. Nothing, that is, but the lump lying next to the door of the shop with his legs hanging down the steps. A lump that was wearing an old Army jacket with a blanket pulled over his head and an empty bottle clutched in his right hand. A lump that was passed out cold and blocking part of the front entrance to the business. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Rick came up behind Shane, who had stopped at the bottom of the three steps and was looking down at their vagrant. Bob.

Bending down, Shane reached over and shook the man, who was either asleep or unconscious, they couldn’t tell which. 

“Bob. Bob Stookey. Ya’ hear me?”

Nothing. 

As Shane took hold of the other man’s closest shoulder—the one peeking out from under the worn blanket—and shook him again, Rick noticed the owners standing in the doorway, watching silently as they waited for the two deputies to take care of their problem and remove the man from the doorstep of their business. The lump beneath the deputy’s hand began to move, and faint murmurs could be heard. A dark head appeared from beneath the tattered blanket, brown eyes squinting up at the officer towering above him.

Straightening up, Shane looked down at the other man, a look of concern on his face. 

“What are ya’ doing, Bob? I thought you were goin’ ta’ try to get yourself straightened out. Off the juice!”

The man on the step began to reply, and as he and Shane began to ‘discuss’ the situation, Rick found his attention wandering as he took a moment to scan the parking lot, looking for a certain black Harley, but it was nowhere to be seen. Hmmm…maybe he just wasn’t coming in today. Maybe it was his day off. Maybe he should stop worrying about Daryl Dixon! The same Daryl Dixon who never even bothered to show the night before after he’d gone to all the trouble of making things comfortable for him. 

His troublesome thoughts were interrupted by a commotion on the stairs. Seeing that Shane was attempting to get Bob to his feet, Rick moved forward to lend a hand, pushing his increasingly irritated thoughts to the back of his mind as he focused on the task in front of him.

Fifteen minutes later Bob had been sent on his way with a warning against anymore loitering. “We’ll haul ya’ in next time, Bob!” Shane had cautioned, even as he watched the other man’s progress with worry in his eyes, hoping that Stookey would get his act together and they wouldn’t have a repeat of this morning, even though he knew in his heart that that wasn’t going to be the case. Rick felt Shane’s large hand land on his shoulder and squeeze as the two of them made their way up the now vacant stairs and into the shop, Dale and Jim having moved away from the door once Bob was up and mobile.  


“Hopefully, this’ll take care of it, Dale,” Shane said, as he addressed the owner of the garage.

The older man nodded his head, a troubled expression on his face. 

“I appreciate it, both of you. Poor young man. He’s fighting a lot of demons. I hated to call you, but I couldn’t get him to move.” Dale’s voice rose a bit as he finished his last sentence, his distress evident in his tone. 

Rick smiled at the older man, knowing that beneath his sometimes gruff exterior lay a heart of gold. A heart that was caring and sympathetic of the suffering of others. 

“Yes,” Jim continued. “He was blocking the entrance and our customers couldn’t get in. We tried to get him up. Even tried to bring him in here…give him some coffee to sober him up. But he was having none of it.”

“Well,” Shane interjected, shaking his head, “hopefully this time he’ll sober up and stay that way.”

“We can only hope,” Dale replied, the hopeful tone warring with the look of doubt on his face. 

The room became quiet at that, as the four men stood, each lost in his own thoughts until Rick broke the silence. Casting his eyes around the office, he asked “is Daryl here this morning? I didn’t see his bike outside.”

Dale shook his head, but it was Jim who replied.

“Haven’t heard hide nor hair from him for two days. Yesterday was his day off, but he hasn’t come in yet this morning. Should have been here several hours ago.”

“Yes,” Dale interjected. “It’s not like him to be late like this. He knew we had that big job first thing this morning!”

Just then, the faint rumbling of a motorcycle could be heard out in the parking lot, followed by a sudden silence as the engine cut off. All four men stood quietly, listening to the noises from outside. Rick, closest to the front of the office, turned to look out the window next to the door. His eyes followed the figure that was slowly making its way to the building, head bent down as if studying the ground. With a niggle of concern, the deputy watched as the man—Daryl—made his way up the steps, his gait slow and a bit unsteady, quite unlike his usual self. Seemingly unaware of the audience inside, the other man swung the door open—and froze, looking just like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up!” Dale was not amused. “Where have you been? And what have you been into?”

Striding forward, he reached out and took hold of the younger man’s chin, tilting his head back so he could better view the damage.

Dark, mottled bruising was evident around the left eye and cheekbone, down the entire side of the tense jawbone and around the neck, disappearing under the younger man’s shirt collar. Taking a deep breath, the usually amiable Dale visibly struggled to control his rising temper.

"Daryl, what you do on your own time is your own business. Except when it interferes with your job, part of which is to be here on time, ready to work. You’re here to work, and here you are more than three hours late. Not a good way to start the day. You’re here to work,” he repeated. “Don’t ever forget that!"

From the suddenly unnatural hush of the sidelines on which he felt he was standing, Rick watched as Daryl gave a quick nod, eyes fixed steadily on the ground between his feet. Seemingly satisfied, Dale nodded to the two deputies, then headed back to the shop, with one last weary look at his younger employee. 

Daryl hadn’t moved. He remained standing where Dale had left him, eyes cast downward, expression stony. He didn’t move and, in fact, barely seemed to be breathing. Rick could see his hands balled into fists at his side, the skin pulled taut under his knuckles. He was strung so tight that Rick could see the tension in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.

He heard renewed activity around him as the others, realizing the show was over, returned to whatever they’d been doing when it had started. Jim nodded to them and then, with a last look at his employee, followed Dale back to the shop. Dragging his gaze away from the other man, Rick looked to his right, where he was being poked in the ribs by Shane, who nodded his head towards what had just a few moments ago been center stage.

 

"Looks like he did get a better offer last night, eh?" the other officer joked, keeping his voice low, referring to their pool game and Daryl’s marked absence. Hearing Shane chuckle to himself, Rick again looked over at his former classmate, who continued standing silent and still, and finally just shrugged. Better offer? Maybe he had, maybe he had.

Although the bruises…the deputy mentally shook himself. What the other man did on his own time was his own business. Just like Dale said. And the next time he said he’d come and participate in their regularly scheduled pool night he could…he could…well, he could just go do something else! He stalked over to the door followed closely by Shane, whose brow was raised in confusion at his friend's demeanor.

Through it all, Daryl remained standing in place, still as a statue, eyes glued to the floor, seemingly oblivious to the activity going on around him. With a last shake of his head, Rick reached out to open the door and then, followed by Shane, walked out into the late morning sunshine, leaving Daryl Dixon standing silent and unmoving in the middle of the office, eyes focused on some unknown speck on the floor between his feet. 

‘No,’ Rick thought to himself. ‘It’s not my problem. He can do whatever he damn well pleases on his own time. Just needs to keep me out of it.’

Oblivious to the concerned looks of his partner, Rick stomped his way to their squad car, unlocking the doors and pulling his open before sliding in and inserting the key. 

“Come on. Let’s get back to the station.” 

Barely giving the other man time to get in and buckle himself up, Rick started the engine and hit the gas, eager to leave this place—and Daryl—behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl Dixon, long-spurned by his community, undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience which, in the end, draws him towards true happiness as he finds that there is, indeed, a light at the end of the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been nearly a year, but I'm not giving up on this story. The updates may be slow in coming, but eventually, I'll finish this thing! Enjoy!

Unfortunately, it was not to be. Not fifteen minutes later another call came through the patrol car’s radio. 

Grabbing the mic and holding it to his mouth, Rick answered quickly. “Copy that. We’re on it.”

Dale. Again. Stookey was back and this time he was drunk, belligerent, and getting physical. 

Sighing in frustration, Rick slammed the mic back down on its “stand” and turned the car around to head back the way they’d just come from. 

“Well, here we go again. Back to the scene of the crime. Wonder what he’s gone and done now?” Shane.

Looking over at his partner and friend, Rick heaved a sigh of frustration.

“Not sure, man. Sounds like Bob decided not to play nice. Looks like he’s causing a commotion. Got himself all riled up.”

Nodding in agreement, Shane gave his partner a quick glance.

“Yeah, sure sounded like it.”

Pulling back into the parking lot, he put the car in park and the two of them scrambled out and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The yelling could be heard even outside.

Striding inside with intention, the two men stopped in their tracks, momentarily taken aback at the sight in front of them, each of them taking a moment to scope out the situation.

Bob, normally quiet and easygoing, was in a frenzy, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs, arms flailing every which way like propellers trying to catch the wind. Dale and Jim stood to the side, seemingly clueless as to what to do in this situation, while Daryl Dixon tried to deal with the unruly man. Unfortunately, every time Daryl tried to grab an arm, the disruptive man would twist away, kicking out, throwing a punch here, butting his head there. Two secretaries and a clerk had come out of the back room and were watching from the sidelines, silent but observant.

Looking at each other in silent communion and giving the other a barely-there nod, the two cops prepared to move in so that each of them could grab an arm in the hopes of restraining the belligerent man before he could do damage to himself or those around him. Stookey’s movements were becoming more frenzied by the moment and it was obvious he was working himself up even more.

In the chaos, a standing parts display was knocked to the ground, even as various small items went flying off the shelves. Cans went rolling across the floor and Rick could hear the sound of glass breaking. In the midst of it all, Stookey was oblivious of the repercussions of his actions.

Just as Rick reached for a wildly flailing arm, the crazed man’s right leg shot out, catching Daryl hard in the side knocking him to his knees. The overexcited Stookey hesitated only briefly, but it was enough to allow Rick and Shane to grab his arms and force him to the ground, cuffing his wrists behind his back, even as the man continued to scream invectives at them. 

Everyone was so focused on the man at the center of the commotion that it took a moment for anyone to notice that Dixon had collapsed onto the floor and was not getting up. In fact, as Rick rose to his feet, leaving his partner to wrestle Stookey to his own feet while castigating him for his actions, he realized that Dixon was not only not getting up, but his eyes were closed and he was not moving. The others seemed to notice at the same time. Absolute silence—stunned shock; even Shane stopped talking as everyone stared at the seemingly boneless figure sprawled on the floor.

Jim, being the closest, moved first. Rick stood seemingly frozen in shock as Dale dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse. Shane, occupied with his prisoner, watched from the sidelines before taking out his own handcuffs and fastening Stookey to a nearby chair. Standing there, he surveyed the situation for a moment as if deciding what to do. And then—mass chaos as everyone rushed to get as close as possible without being in the way. 

"Call 9-1-1!" Rick heard someone—one of the clerks—scream in a voice near panic. That got him moving and his feet moved of their own accord to carry him to the knot of people surrounding the fallen man. He didn’t even think as he elbowed people aside to get to the front of the group. And then he came to a standstill. Daryl Dixon lay crumpled at his feet, still lying on his side, one arm flung out, fingers loose and boneless. Surprisingly, Rick found himself mesmerized by those long, graceful fingers. They were so still. He barely noticed when Shane bumped into him as he, too, pushed his way to the front of the crowd and knelt beside the unconscious man.

 

Taking control of the situation, Shane looked back over his shoulder, bellowing orders.

 

“Everyone move back! We need room to look him over. Give us some breathing room here!”

 

Reaching out, Shane felt for a pulse on the unconscious man’s neck. Rick watched as his partner closed his eyes, obviously concentrating on the task at hand. Then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded sharply and opened his eyes, looking up at those gathered round. 

 

“He’s got a pulse. Not as strong as it should be, but feels steady.”

 

Ignoring the people filling the room, Shane looked up at his partner, nodding his head in affirmation that the man on the floor was still with them.

 

In the distance, a siren could be held, and both men breathed a sigh of relief that help was on the way. Moments later, an ambulance pulled up in front of the shop and the doors flew open. 

 

Looking out the window, Rick could see the medics grabbing their equipment and heading towards them, even as he heard a jittering of hushed conversation sweep through the room. 

 

There was more commotion as Mary Williams, the medic on call, pushed her way through the crowd and knelt down beside the unconscious man. 

 

"Move back," she announced in a businesslike voice without even looking up from her patient. "Give us some room here." 

 

Everyone moved back. They knew better than to mess with Mary Williams. She was a familiar sight to everyone in Kings County, having served its’ citizens for the last twenty years. The forty-something medic could be very motherly and attentive to her patients, but she was also known for her brusque, no-nonsense manner if someone crossed her. If she said move, you moved. No one wanted to find out what would happen if they didn’t.

 

"What happened?" she asked as she took vitals, looking here, listening there, writing everything down. 

When no one responded immediately, Dale took charge. "He was kicked pretty hard in the side. And then…he just fainted. He hasn’t been here long but…he’s been off since he got here. Not himself. And he came in this morning looking like…that…" he trailed off, gesturing at the bruises covering Daryl’s face and neck. Mary took note, running her experienced fingers over them and down the side of the neck. 

 

"Any idea what happened?" she asked. 

 

"Looks like Daryl got lucky. Or someone else did," someone in the back sniggered. Rick wasn’t sure who it was—a shop employee most likely—but he knew that he’d be shooting daggers if he had eyes in the back of his head.

 

"No!" someone protested. "That’s not like Dixon. He’s not into that!"

 

Silence from the back. Evidently, others were shooting daggers.

 

Mary had finished her preliminary examination and, evidently determining that there were no major broken bones from the fall, moved to roll the man onto his back so she could better examine him. Without even realizing he’d done it, Rick fell to his knees and grasped a broad shoulder in an attempt to help her. He raised his eyes in surprise at what he felt.

 

"He’s burning up!" 

 

"Yes. 103.2 degrees. Not good. Let’s get this shirt open and see what’s going on." That said, she began unbuttoning Daryl’s shirtsleeve, frowning as it opened to reveal more bruising on the wrist. 

 

Rick looked closely and spied what he thought were finger marks that went all the way around the wrist. What had happened last night? But it was when Mary opened the shirt that Rick realized the full impact of the situation. His eyes were drawn helplessly to the solid torso. It was covered with dark, ugly bruises. They were everywhere, even running down beneath the waistband of the loose jeans the other man was wearing. Loud intakes of breath all around, followed by stunned silence.

 

Mary broke it. "This man’s been beaten. Violently. We need to get him to a hospital, now!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl Dixon, long-spurned by his community, undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience which, in the end, draws him towards true happiness as he finds that there is, indeed, a light at the end of the tunnel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Mary broke it. "This man’s been beaten. Violently. We need to get him to a hospital, now!”

 

It was at that moment that Daryl Dixon decided to regain consciousness. With a sharp intake of breath, he moaned quietly and rolled his head to the side, eyes still closed. Rick, realizing that he was only semiconscious and not totally aware of his surroundings, reached over to grasp the nearest hand, holding it gently. 

He stroked the hot forehead, murmuring quietly, "it’s alright, Daryl. You’re going to be alright. Help is on the way." 

All of his previous anger had vanished the moment the other man had collapsed. Now, Rick was filled with another type of anger, this one much more deadly than the first—directed at some unnamed person or persons—whoever had done this to his friend. He also felt a surge of protectiveness towards this man—though he had no idea why—and he vowed to himself that nothing further would happen to Daryl Dixon.

"Hurts," Daryl whispered, seemingly not aware of his surroundings. "It hurts." A shaky hand moved to his abdomen and rested there as he started coughing. It was just as he began spitting up blood that the ambulance arrived, much to everyone’s relief. 

 

 

Two hours. Two terribly, horribly long hours he’d been waiting. Waiting for something, anything. Any word on how Daryl was. Any word on his condition. Any word on what had happened to him. All Rick knew was that, after a frantic ambulance ride, Daryl had been rushed into the E.R., still only semiconscious. Beyond that, not a clue. No idea how he’d come to be beaten so badly, or why he’d been coughing up blood just before being loaded into the ambulance.

Rick stopped his restless pacing when he felt a warm hand grip his shoulder and squeeze, as if to give comfort and moral support. Both were needed badly and he looked up and gave Shane a weak smile. The hand stayed where it was, a symbol of strength which allowed Rick to take a deep breath and regroup. He appreciated the fact that his friend was present—no questions asked. The other man was just…here, lending quiet support.

Okay. Two hours wasn’t a terribly long period of time in the grand scheme of things. After all, the doctors needed to do a thorough examination—tests needed to be run, results read. Then everyone would know what they were dealing with. And he hoped they weren’t dealing with anything major. But he couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that this was something very, very major—very big and very bad.

He couldn’t erase the sight of Daryl sprawled on the floor, face ashen except for the blood—ruby red against the pale skin. Nor could he forget the small, pitiful moan—quite out of character--as the other man began to regain consciousness and started to feel the pain that was wracking his body. It went straight to Rick’s heart.

Thank goodness his quick thinking had allowed him to jump into the ambulance once the stretcher had been loaded. At least he’d been able to offer a modicum of support to the ill man, even if Daryl hadn’t been entirely aware of what was going on. And at least the other man wasn’t totally surrounded by strangers. It had taken nearly all of Rick’s control to remain seated on the sidelines, though he did reach out and grasp one pale hand, almost defying the EMT’s to do something about it. They didn’t. 

It had been frightening, though, to watch as the medical personnel went about their business—examining their patient, taking vitals, looking for clues as to what was wrong. At least the horrible coughing had stopped on the way to the hospital. Rick closed his eyes at the memory of the battered body that had been exposed as clothing was moved here and there, shirt removed, pants cut off. The bruising was everywhere—far worse than Rick had realized. How had the other man even made it into work today? How had he even gotten out of bed?

A warm hand squeezing his shoulder shook Rick out of his reverie. Glancing up, he looked into Shane’s concerned eyes and saw the unspoken question. “Are _you _alright?” A slight nod in reply was all the response that was necessary. His friend smiled back at him.__

__Casting his eyes around the crowded waiting room, Rick surveyed the group that had begun forming not long after the ambulance had arrived._ _

__Dale was there—having shut down the shop for the day—Jim pacing back and forth in front of him. But there were others, as well, some of whom Rick new only by sight. He recognized some of Daryl’s coworkers—a clerk, a mechanic, others he didn’t know other than the fact that he’d seen them on the periphery of the action that morning. The very fact that Dale had closed shop for the day was testimony to the severity of the situation and the regard with which Daryl was held._ _

__He was slightly surprised, but at the same time he understood completely. Daryl was well thought of. Rick just hadn’t realized how much. Hmmmm. It was like a piece to a puzzle, a puzzle called Daryl Dixon. Something he definitely wanted to explore._ _

__The hand, which had remained on his shoulder, tightened, causing Rick to once again focus on Shane. But his friend was looking over at the doors leading to the Emergency Room Unit—the doors from which a doctor had just emerged. The two men moved as one to join the gathering crowd._ _

__“Who is here for Daryl Dixon?” she asked, surveying the large gathering in confusion. At a chorus of “aye’s” and “here’s” she visibly regrouped herself. “Well,” she began again. “I am Dr. Meadows. Does….does Mr. Dixon have family here? Immediate family?”_ _

__“No, he doesn’t. There’s just his brother, but he’s been in lockup for the past three months.” This from Dale, who appeared to be very subdued, quite unlike his usual, jovial self._ _

__“Well, then. Mr. Dixon has been moved to surgery. He’s been badly beaten…among other things. Does anyone know how this occurred?”_ _

__Silence._ _

__“Any information at all would be very helpful.”_ _

__Nothing. Blank, worried faces. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of her, as if that would will her to continue with the words he wanted to hear, and yet dreaded knowing._ _

__“Alright. Well, as I said, Mr. Dixon has been brought up to surgery. Physically, he’s in bad shape. Severe contusions over much of his body, two broken ribs…” she paused, as if gauging their reaction to what she had to say next. “That’s not the worst of it, though.” She paused to take a deep breath before continuing. “He has no family here at all. Is that right?”_ _

__“Right,” Jim responded again._ _

__“We’re his family.” This from Dale._ _

__“You?”_ _

__“Yes, us!” Dale and Jim in unison._ _

__She hesitated, her reluctance to say more obvious to all of them. Finally, though, she gestured for them to follow her and she led the way into a smaller, more private waiting room off to the side of the larger one in which they’d been grouped. Rick found his feet moving of their own accord as he trailed after her. Without turning to look he could sense that Shane was following as well. Turning to face them, the doctor surveyed the group before her. Four men—Dale, Jim, Shane, and himself. They waited expectantly._ _

__“Mr. Dixon…Daryl has been raped---multiple times. And this was rape, no doubt about it.” She hesitated at the quick intake of breaths around her, but then continued. “He’s suffered severe tearing of the rectal wall, perforated colon…”_ _

__She trailed off as Dale’s quiet voice sounded. “Are you sure?” He had a look of infinite sadness on his face. Rick closed his eyes, unable to continue watching for a moment, but when the doctor began speaking once again, he forced them open, unable to _not _watch___ _

____“Unfortunately, yes. It looks as if at least one foreign object was used, as well. Physically, I believe he will be alright. Mentally, however, Daryl will need help. In fact, once he’s out of surgery and his condition is stable, a counselor will be in to talk to him…get the process started. If any of you do know any details pertaining to his whereabouts last night, the police would like to speak with you, as well. Also…” she trailed off again, as if unwilling to continue with whatever she was going to say. But then, “I need to speak with someone who is familiar with Mr. Dixon and his history.”_ _ _ _

____“His history?” Jim asked, obviously unsure what she was getting at._ _ _ _

____“What is it you’re wanting to know?” This from Dale._ _ _ _

____She looked around at the expectant faces and seemed to come to a decision of some sort._ _ _ _

____“Do any of you know anything about Mr. Dixon’s previous history?”_ _ _ _

____“Some,” Jim replied. “Like what?”_ _ _ _

____“A little,” from Dale._ _ _ _

____“What do you need to know?” Rick finally forced himself to speak._ _ _ _

____She hesitated again, as if still unsure. Finally, “scans indicate past abuse.”_ _ _ _

____Stunned silence. No one said a word. A sea of bewildered, confused faces just stared at her as she made this proclamation._ _ _ _

____At last, Rick worked up the courage to voice what they all wanted to know. His voice was low and dangerous._ _ _ _

____“What do you mean, past abuse?”_ _ _ _

____“Scans show scar tissue—quite old—on the lining of the rectal wall. If any of you know anything at all, it would be of great help to us. Because if Daryl was abused prior to this incident, it will impact his recovery now. We need to treat the whole person and we can’t do that unless we know everything.”_ _ _ _

____No one said a word. Rick tried to control his breathing, to calm himself. He felt as if he was going to explode. But he couldn’t. Not now. He needed to remain in control. His friend…Daryl…needed him._ _ _ _


End file.
